Gel
by WildConstantia
Summary: Mike and Lavina find themselves in a bar together one lonely night.


Gel

Disclaimer: Thoroughbred and all it's characters are owned by HarperCollins publishers.

This was originally written for a challenge on the Whitebrook Farm forums. It's Mike/Lav and could be seen as a companion piece to my novella, Dreamcatcher.

**Gel**

_Tell me how you love to change me, Tell me I can stay the same_  
-Gel- Collective Soul-

Mike sat himself down at the bar, wiping the residual layer of salt and grime off the counter in front of him. He was planning on planting his face there later and didn't want anything disgusting crusted to his cheek the next morning.

"Give me a double scotch on the rocks," He told the bartender dully.

The guy behind the counter gave Mike a curious look and turned to prepare the drink.

Mike took what he assumed would be one last sober glance at the dingy place he was in and spotted the last person he expected to see there. He was too busy staring at her to notice his drink placed in front of him.

It was fair to say that Lavinia looked like shit. Her hair hung in straggly clumps and her face didn't have a shred of makeup on it. She was clinging to a martini like it was a life jacket in the middle of a stormy sea. Mike was familiar with that feeling.

What was most surprising was the fact that she was alone. Sitting there in a dark corner of the bar, she could have been any lonely woman seeking solace in a drink and a bowl of old peanuts.

But she wasn't just any woman. She was the socialite of Lexington. The girl that most guys would kill to be with and most girls just wanted to kill.

Mike took a sip of scotch, took a chance and took a step toward her.

"So, what's a dame like you doing in a joint like this?" He quipped, waving his glass theatrically.

She looked up at him, her eyes shadowed. "Oh… you."

"Me. I suppose it's fair to say the same people that put me here did the same to you?" He sat down opposite her. Drinking with a self-centered bitch was oddly more appealing than drinking alone.

"Long story and not nearly enough alcohol," the look she gave him was similar to one that any female would give an unwanted spider on her pillow. He appreciated every disdainful moment of it.

Mike leant back in the shitty chair and looked her over properly. Even in her state, she was stunning. A real model of a woman.

The full upper lip curled in his direction. "What do you want?" she snarled.

"I want to get shitfaced. But, I'm told it's better to drink in company than to drink alone."

"I wouldn't know."

"Me neither. It's not like I do this often, contrary to impression I must be giving right now."

"Not what I meant, Sparky. I always drink alone." She swigged at her martini. A little too wildly as some of it dribbled down her chin.

Mike slid a napkin across to her. "That's attractive. You're not going to win Brad back with alcohol all over your face."

"Why would I want that? He's an asshole. Besides, he loves Ashleigh," she said the last word with extra venom.

Mike sighed, "I know. I hit him today."

She showed a little more interest in him then, her eyes actually making contact with his. "Reality check, Sparky. They're probably going to run off and have little Townsend babies. You're nothing compared to him."

"Trust you to put things in perspective," he said dryly. "Just what I needed."

"What you need is some money and a nose-job. Then maybe you'd compare to Brad." The olive at the bottom of her glass vanished.

Mike didn't even feel offended. He was amused by her attempts to put him down. "Well, what you need is a hairbrush and some lipstick. You look like a spent whore."

"Up yours, jackass."

"Such a lady! Do you think I'll stand a chance with you a few margaritas from now?"

And then she started crying. Tears fell down pale cheeks and she clutched at her face along with chunks of thick blond hair.

Mike wasn't expecting anything like that. He reached across the table and touched her arm. "I'm sorry. I'm taking out all my shit on you."

"I was doing the same thing," she sniffed and swabbed at her face with the napkin. "God, how pathetic. Look at me!"

He smiled and brushed his fingertips along the bridge of her nose. "I am."

This person in front of him was not the Lavinia he knew and hated. This was a real living and breathing human being.

"It's been a bad day," she muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

Mike handed her another napkin. "Tell me about it. Until this minute, I would've been content to drink enough to kill an average-sized whale."

"What do you feel like doing now?" she asked.

"I feel like taking a lonely girl out for dinner and buying her the biggest chocolate sundae I can find," Mike said and shrugged when she gave him a curious look. "I know. I'm a strange guy."

A smile teased at her mouth. "I like strawberry."

"How about we work out the details once we get out of this shithole?" Mike put his glass down, wishing that he'd had the foresight to order a single.

Lavinia actually laughed. "Ok, Sparky. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You give me five minutes to put some lipstick on and to brush my hair."

END


End file.
